


Before Frost Descends

by Muscarie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muscarie/pseuds/Muscarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little love story previously published on FF.net. AU, takes place after the battle of the five armies. Fili is now King under the Mountain, and he spends most of his evenings at Lake-Town's best inn, The Grinning Rat. Could it have anything to do with the owner, lady Sigrid?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Frost Descends

**Author's Note:**

> I published this before on my FF account, and realised I hadn't here! So here it is; I think I've evolved as a writer since writing this, but I was fairly pleased with it so thought I would put it up here too.
> 
> AU= in which Kili and Thorin die during the battle of the five armies, and Fili has become King under the Mountain. I have always liked the idea of Fili/Sigrid so thought I would give it a go. It is just a little fluffy, angsty story.
> 
> I own nothing, except the OCs. The Grinning Rat is a made up place, any similarity with an actual place is accidental.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

He dared not look up.

He knew she was there, swaying past them all with purpose and pints of ale. Her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, curls of mousy hair framing her red cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her golden arm setting a pint next to Dwalin, and knew he would be next. He had drank his pints like a man dying of thirst would down a chope of fresh water, because finishing a pint meant she would bring a new one.

He pretended not to be listening out for her footsteps as she walked around their table, towards him. He felt more than he saw her leaning in between himself and Balin, to his right, to settle a pint onto the table, next to his hand. The force with which she had put the pint down sent some foam flying from the chope and over his fingers, rings and all.

"Forgive me", she breathed next to his ear, and her breath tickled him.

He still felt unable to look at her, and the prospect of speaking to her seemed even worse, so he settled for a strangled "no pr-worr-ems", his mouth betraying him at the last second by not making its mind up between 'worries' and 'problems'. Mortified, he kept his eyes fixed on his new pint, but she had already half moved away when he had started speaking and he held great hopes that she had simply not heard him at all. It was noisy, after all.

The inn was situated at the end of another smelly, humid street of Lake Town. It was named The Grinning Rat and it seemed to attract all sorts of people from all sorts of lands. People who enjoyed a drink, that is to say. Since Smaug's death, visitors came from all over the land to see Lake Town, the Mountain, and the heroes of the quest with their own eyes. The Grinning Rat was like a cherry on top of the cake, a great inn with great ale and food, where the rooms were clean and the windows on the eastern side of the place offered a priviledged view onto the lake, and behind it, the heroically conquered Erebor. On a calm morning, when there was no wind troubling its waters, the lake mimicked the Mountain in a perfect reflection. The hostess was part of the show, he suspected. She was the daughter of the Lord of Dale, taken away from misery and poverty when her father had regained his family's title by slaying the dragon, yet instead of becoming the lady she was, and appreciating a well-deserved life of receptions and gallantries, she had remained in the lower town, and opened an inn. Rumour had it that she still scaled and gutted her own fish. Rumour had it as well that she disliked to be called 'Milady' when she worked, and that if someone had the courage to call her by her name - Sigrid - she served them some free snacks with their drink. No one, however, had the courage to call the daughter of the Master of Lake Town by her first name. Only Balin did, in fact.

"Thank you, Sigrid" the old Dwarf called out to her retreating back, and sure enough a few seconds later there were little tomato covered toasts placed, gently, next to his hand. They smelled divine.

Fili saw Balin smile at her, and wondered if she was smiling back, but dared not look around and check. He chose to look at the toasties instead. He knew she had made the bread herself; it was toasted to perfection and covered with some tomato, garlic and herbs coulis, and a fresh leaf of basil had been delicately placed on top. It smelled absolutely gorgeous. Then, he saw Balin staring at him with a knowing look in his eyes, and he adverted his gaze, pretending to be interested in what Bofur had to say about how, when he played a fast tune on his cello, Bifur and Bombur went about their daily activities much faster, and how he had witnessed this reaction before during the Quest, when he played fast tunes to the ponies to get them to eat faster. Bombur shouted that he was no pony, and Bofur shouted back that he sure was the size of one, and the whole table laughed, spitting bits of food and drops of ale onto their table. Fili felt bad, because he knew Sigrid (after a lot of internal debating, he had decided that it was acceptable for him to call her by her name in his head) would have to clean up their mess. Absentmindedly, he started scooping up some crumbs with his sleeve, but froze dead in his tracks when he caught Balin looking at him again, that knowing smile stretched accross his wrinkled lips. The young King, for that was who Fili now was, pulled his drink in front of him and let his gaze pour into it. Long locks of golden hair fell around his face, sheltering his reddening cheeks from Balin's prying eyes.

Sigrid, he thought, Sigrid, Sigrid, Sigrid.

She had had to bend past him to put his pint and Balin's toasties on the table, and, safely sheltered by the privacy of his mind and the alcohol that was whriling around in his head, Fili let the fantasy unfold. Sigrid bending over from behind him, accidentely brushing against his back and shoulder as she did so. Her breath in his ear, forgive me, what else could she have said? Look at me. Stay with me. Follow me. These thoughts were almost too much to bear, and were heading towards even more dangerous waters, so Fili somehow managed to shake them out from his traitorous mind. He decided instead to imagine a short, relatively innocent scene taking place later that evening. The inn would be deserted by its patrons, all stumbling home in the early light of dawn, their drunken singing and dancing waking all the birds around. He would linger, picking up chairs, mopping up spilt ale. Maybe she would struggle to carry a barrel back to its rightful place, and he would rush to help her, carry it for her. Maybe he would get a smile and a "good night", then. She always said goodnight to him, but without looking, and she always added a horrible "your Highness" right after it. Maybe she bowed, even, but he would not know - he never looked.

Well, this was not quite the truth. The truth was, he always looked. Just not when she was near, not when she might catch him looking. But he looked, and looked, and longed. He looked with his eyes, with his ears, with his hands even, when he picked up his pint by placing his fingers exactly where hers had been. He ate the bread and knew she was the one who had kneaded it. Sometimes it was the other girl, or that young lad, who had prepared the food, and he could always tell the difference. Not between food made by the other girl and food made by the young lad, but always between food made by Sigrid and food made by anyone else.

Maybe then, after he had carried that barrel, and earned a smile and a goodnight, he would compliment the food and ale. She would smile an even brighter smile then, maybe laugh it off, and maybe he would ask her how she had come up with the name "The Grinning Rat".

They would repeat this little scene every other night, him staying behind and helping, them chatting a bit, and eventually he would convince her to call him Fili and she would return the favour by insisting on being Sigrid. Their early morning conversations would become more insightful, and, maybe, possibly, he would confide in her, tell her about his Plan. She would understand, he knew she would. Never in his fantasies did he ask about her opening an inn and working day and night to keep it in shape, rather than embracing her newly restored social status. He did not need to ask, for he already knew. And if he got to speak to her, and they grew close, and he could tell her of his Plan, then she would see just how similar they were, how well they suited each other, in spite of everything.

But tonight was not the night, and Fili got up and left with the rest, and he pretended not to wince when she said "Goodnight, my lords, your Highness".

Her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, huffing and puffing as she somehow managed to push the heavy barrel back onto its shelf, Sigrid wiped the sweat off her forehead and caught her own reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall of the cellar. Her hair was coming out of its tight bun, her eyes shine bright with effort, her cheeks were red and her nose shiny. A true beauty. A true lady, she thought with sarcasm, and used her forearm to wipe her nose. She walked back upstairs, into the main room, wiped the bar and inspected the place. All tidy and in place, ready for the next lot.

Satisfied, she allowed exhaustion to let itself be known, and went upstairs to her room where she collapsed onto her bed not to awaken till early afternoon.

"The King likes you, Sigrid" said Gilda later that day, as they were getting food ready for the early drinkers.

"Which king is that?" Replied Sigrid, absentmindedly. Everyone seemed to be calling themselves king. King of Dale, King Under the Mountain, King of the Woodland Relm, King of the Night, King of the Fishing Business... It did not mean much to her.

"The King Under the Mountain, obviously," said Gilda, who did not buy her friend's false nonchalance.

"He likes my inn?"

"Oh, Sigrid, you know what I mean"

"Well, he certainly likes my ale, I know that. I don't think anyone has ever drank that much of it in one evening, yet he does so every time he comes."

"He likes your ale, your food - crunches up his nose everytime it is me or Ole who make it -, your service - always sits where you serve -, your voice - I could swear I see his ears perk up whenever you speak..."

"Probably listening out for the last orders signal. How he manages to walk back to that mountain of his without falling into the lake, I wonder. It is Friday, Gilda, today we serve rasperry pies not blueberry ones."

Gilda was about to mention the noises the dwarf king made when he bit into Sigrid's raspberry pies, but decided to let the matter go as a couple of fishermen came in, turning the "close/open" sign over on their way in. It was truly amazing how within the year and a half during which the inn had been opened, local people had taken to it so much that it was like a second home to them, and they knew the opening times, the menu and the delivery dates off by heart. At the beginning, Sigrid had very strongly suspected that the success of her inn was mostly due to the fact that most people rather enjoyed the idea of ordering from and being served by a lady, but now she did not really want to know why people were coming, as long as they were coming back.

"Good evening, Milady, Gilda. Is Ole not in today?"

"Good evening. He has had to visit his mother for an urgent matter, but he will be back soon" replied Sigrid from behind the bar.

She was already placing two little pies onto the fishermen's favourite plates, the little blue ones, while Gilda was fetching a bottle of Woodland Grey from the cellar. She knew their order, Sigrid realised, but could not remember their names. She struggled with names. Gilda on the other hand could never remember anything related to recipies, orders and menus, but always knew who was who and who said what about whom. Ole, though barely older than Tilda, was extremely savvy when it came to orders, deliveries, prices and negociations. All in all, they completed each other and formed an excellent team. Sigrid was the hands, Gilda the heart and Ole the head of the Grinning Rat. Sigrid was the official owner of the place, but she shared its revenues equally between the three of them, because she knew that if one of them was to leave then the whole building would collapse. Also, she liked having these two around her, it reminded her of Tilda and Bain (the number of times she had called Gilda 'Tilda', and Ole 'Bain'!). Speaking of her little brother, Bain was quite the grown man now, he took his position as son of the Lord of Dale rather seriously, and accompanied their father everywhere. He took notes (mentally, for he was not the best reader) on all matters and probably rather fancied the idea of becoming a Lord himself. Tilda had taken fairly well to her new status, and although she was still too young to be expected to behave as a lady should, she was starting to grasp what her role brought in terms or entitlements and responsibilities. Her down to Earth nature only made her more likeable to the people of Dale, who, thanks to Tilda, did not miss the presence of a Lady of Dale neither in the form of a wife for Bard, nor of his eldest daughter Sigrid. The main downside for Tilda was that she could no longer fight with boys, for she quite enjoyed a fight, but the plus side was that no boy ever tried speaking ill of her now that she had become their Lady.

Sigrid had pretended not to pay much attention to Gilda's words concerning the King Under the Mountain, but the truth was, she had caught him looking at her a few times. Well, it was not really him who she caught, it was the other dwarves smirking or wiggling their eyebrows knowingly in their King's direction that had her eventually realising that something was going on. Though, duento her looks and Gilda's, or even Ole's, she had dismissed the possibility that she was the one at the centre of the King's misfortune. However, if Gilda said it was her that King Fili looked at...

But he never looks at me, she thought, I serve him about ten times a night and he does not once meet my gaze. One might think he dislikes me, even.

No, indeed he does not, and isn't this odd? He is no loner, and he drinks all your ale, said a voice in her head, and the voice sounding a lot like Gilda. Maybe he does not look at you because he does not wish to let you know just how much he wants to look at you. Eyes are a mirror to the soul, maybe he fears his eyes will betray his feelings if he lets their path cross yours...

The door of the inn opened again, and Sigrid's heart skipped a beat as she whipped around to see who was coming in, half expecting the dwarf king to step in with a rose between his teeth. It was more fishermen though, and the image of King Fili with a rose between his teeth made her stiffle a giggle with the back of her flour-covered hand as she went back to her work. Enough silliness.

Papers, contracts, plans, papers. All Fili could do was stare blankly at all the papers that were spread before him on the heavy stone table of the throne room. They hardly made sense to him. That simple truth was so embarrassing that he had sent most of his advisors away, keeping only Dís, his mother, and Balin. He knew that they knew he was lost, but Balin would never let it show, and Dís, although there was a slight hint of accusation in her eyes, was a strategical genius and could not easily be sent away from the throne room.

She should be sitting on that throne, thought Fili for the thousandth time.

"The Council of the Lords insists that the Eastern wing is the priority, but, as you can see from these delivery slips, we have just enough material to build one wing before this winter and there will not be any more deliveries before spring. We could send people now to the Mines, but it is a long way, and they would not return before well into winter. This would make their journey a lot riskier, as you know, Fili."

Balin always spoke with such gentleness, anything he said sounded like just the solution to any problem. Everything sounded simple. Fili felt immensely grateful for the old dwarf, who had summed up in one neat little paragraph all the information that he failed to process from these piles of paper.

"The Western wing" continued Balin, "is, in my opinion, the one we cannot do without. People need homes, urgently, libraries and armories can wait another winter."

"Precisely" said Dís. "Now, the Lords will not be happy about you announcing this, so you must sugarcoat it in promises of homes, and your will to reunite families rather than divise them with yet another mission. Tell them you value their homes over your armouries, and they will listen."

"Maybe you should speak to them, mother. The people adore you."

There was no bitterness in the young King's tone. Upon their return, after the Battle of the Five Armies, when Fili had returned sole survivor of the line of Durin, the Dwarves had struggled with this idea that this young lad, with his golden hair and blue eyes so unlike what the line of Durin had accostumed them to, was now to be their king. Fili had had to fight countless times, with or without weapon, to stop people from calling him Fili rather than Your Highness. It seemed all the more absurd as he did not care for the title, and would have rather remained Fili.

"Do not be silly" replied Dís, smoothing her beard.

They had both shaven their beards off in sign of mourning after Thorin and Kili's deaths, but it was over two years before, and now their beards had grown back. Fili suspected that he might have to start thinking about embroidering gold in his soon. His hand went up to his beard, and he rubbed the coarse hairs there, then his hand seemed to act of its own accord as it pinched the bridge of his nose then rubbed his eyes and the whole of his face as if it was trying to erase it all.

"Why don't the lady Dís and I write a little announcement which explains, with high amounts of sugar, why you have decided to value the restoration of the Western wing over the Eastern one? If this is your decision, that is." Said Balin. His hand was on the King' shoulder, comforting, never patronizing.

"Yes, we will rebuild the Western one first. Those fat lords can wait."

Fili surprised even himself with the harshness of his tone - he was not one to insult others -, but he did not feel as mortified as he knew he should have. All he wanted to do was go to Lake Town, sit at the Grinning Rat and drink twice his fill while Sigrid moved about, her sleeves rolled up and her cheeks pinkened by the exercise.

He excused himself.

That evening, the Dwarves, the ones who had survived the Quest, were all seated at the Grinning Rat again, and Bofur was again delighting the whole room with a tale of his.

"The absolute, most boring dinner you could imagine! And I pictured Elves for heavy drinkers, but, by Mahal, we were all sat there, eating lettuce, and listening to the harp!"

Everyone laughed, a welcoming audience. Apart from the three hosts, there was not one sober person in the inn. And the King under the Mountain was the worst of them all.

"So I said, 'fellas, there is no only one medicine for this', and I jumped onto the table and started singing just like this "

Then Bofur broke into his 'Man in the Moon' song, and the whole inn joined in. When the song reached its climax, all stood up then sat back down at once, and Bombur did not watch where he was sitting down, at the end of long bench, and the fellow seated at the other of the bench went flying onto the floor, and all laughed hysterically, even the hosts. Blinking back tears if laughter, Fili turned to see if Kili had seen it, then sudenly remembered that Kili was dead.

Dead.

His baby brother was not there, sitting next to him, he was dead, dead, dead.

The crushing truth of this clenched and gnawed at his heart and the tears in his eyes started to sting. He stopped laughing - how dared he laugh when Kili was dead?

He looked around him, confused as if he had just awoken from a deep sleep. Everyone was laughing. How could they laugh when Kili was dead? Despair and powerlessness filled his heart, why was everyone laughing? Kili was dead, why were things carrying on? His eyes looked at each face around him, and he found them all ugly, distorted, absurd. Almost frightful. He felt the urge to stand up and run, but his chair was blocked by the one behind him. All these nightmarish faces laughing at Kili's death. All but one.

Sigrid was looking at him, at him, not at Bofur or Bombur, and she was not laughing. Their eyes met, for the first time ever since he had grabbed her and pulled her under a table back when her home was being attacked by Orcs, Orcs looking for him, and Fili felt the urge to run to her, into her arms, he felt his need for her like a blow in the stomach and it took his breath away. He wanted to bury his face into her neck, to see, to smell, to feel, to taste her and only her. He could not carry on like this, he knew it now. He had to speak to her.

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, to him, and he shook himself and looked back down at his shivering hands.

"LAST ORDERS" shouted Sigrid after a few seconds.

The patrons stopped laughing then, and all rushed to the bar, coins in hand.

Fili did not move, he did not trust himself to.

Even when they all left, stumbling outside, even when Dwalin offered to help him up, he refused to move. He stayed where he was. What was the point of going anywhere now Kili was dead?

Silence fell around him, occasionnally broken by a chair being picked up or empty bottles being put away. He heard Sigrid light up a few more candles as she started cleaning the room, and heard the other two, the girl and the young lad, picking up a barrel and taking it to the cellar. He was alone with Sigrid. His mind was rendered so hazy by the alcohol and the despair that he had no idea how to get himself out of this situation. He did realise that he must have been looking really odd, sitting there in silence, head down.

After a few moments in silence, he heard her footsteps coming closer to him, and saw a little plate which had a raspberry pie on it being pushed towards him on the table. The delicious smell of it rushed into his nose and he felt like crying.

"You do not have to eat it" said Sigrid.

What a beautiful voice she had, slightly rasped, kind, strong-willed, but soft and quiet at the same time. He wished she would call his name with that voice.

He willed himself to swallow back the tears and look up at her face.

"Thank you", he said, and when their gazes locked he knew she could make out the tears in his eyes. His eyes fell back to the table.

He wished with all his might that she would walk away now, but she remained there, and the horrible, despicable idea that she might be pitying him filled him with self disgust.

"Erm, is there... Is there anything you wish to speak about?" She asked. What a gorgeous voice.

"Why does everyone wish for me to speak?" He blurted out, rudely.

That sobered him up. Had he really just spoken out loud? Of all the people he could have expressed his frustration to, it had had to be her? The very first time they ever spoke?

There was a moment of awful silence, then he started hearing her turn around and walk away, and just as she was mumbling an apology he literally jumped to his feet and cried out "forgive me!"

She stopped, and turned towards him.

"Forgive me, my lady, I did not intend to be rude."

"Me neither" she replied, and he felt even worse.

"Thank you for the pie, my lady, I believe they are my favourite" that was not quite true, though. Everything made by her was his favourite.

She looked up sharply then, assessing, trying to decipher whether he was being honest or polite. He held her gaze, unwavering, though he could feel his knees trembling slightly. She seemed to make up her mind, nodded curtly and offered him a stiff smile before turning back to her work. He released the breath he had not realised had been stuck in his throat, and considered his option. He could eat the pie, repeat his thanks and apologies, then leave. Or, he could eat his pie, and help her tidy up. Maybe speak to her. The alcohol in him must have still been kicking quite a bit because he set his mind on the latter option, eating his pie in one large mouthful then moving round the table and towards her. She was mopping some spilt ale -they both hoped it was ale - from underneath a table when he reached her side and lifted the table slightly so she could mop under its feet. She started, not having realised he was this close, but recovered quickly and muttered a little thank you. Truly, her voice was gorgeous.

They repeated this little scene a few times, in silence, him lifting things up for her to clean under, or her making piles of glasses which he then carried over to the basin. It was almost like his fantasies. His eyes had stopped burning, and he felt some sort of contented warmth mixed with excitement that was bordering on the delirious. All that was missing was conversation.

"Erm, at what time do you usually finish work, my lady?" He asked her.

"Oh, usually at about now, though I must say it has gone much faster tonight. Thank you for your help, your Highness."

He winced. Just tell her. Tell her!

"You may call me Fili, my lady. If you wish!" He added quickly, fearing to be out of line.

"Pardon?"

Damn. She had not heard him over the sound her washing up the dishes.

"It does not matter"

"No, go on, forgive me I did not hear you."

"I was, erm, I was only saying that, if you wish, you may call me by my name, my lady. If you wish."

She just blinked at him, her hands still soaked in steaming, soapy water.

"Call you... By your name?"

"Yes, if you will." Then, suddenly mortified, he added: "my name is Fili"

Just at this second, the other two came back from the cellar all laughing and chatting and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw him still standing there.

"Your Highness" said the boy, and the girl curtsied clumsily.

He bowed back at them, feeling like an absolute idiot.

"Goodnight, my lady, my lord... My lady Sigrid"

"Goodnight" replied Sigrid. No name. She was looking at him though, this time.

He could have sworn the other girl's lips were curling into a smirk. Picking up what was left of his dignity, he left the inn, and only once he reached his rooms in Erebor did he realise that there had been raspberry juice on the side of his mouth all this time.

"...And then, Ole and Tilda..."

"Ole and Tilda?" Interrupted the latter.

"Ole and Gilda," corrected Sigrid, "came back up from the cellar, finally, and he left"

"What time was it then?"

"I am not sure, maybe three or four in the morning?"

The two sisters were sitting in Tilda's room at the palace. Tilda was looking through her books - she was a keen reader - and sorting them in chronological order. She had started developping a taste for history which she now had enough money to nurture with specialised books. Sigrid was sitting on Tilda's bed, and the door was half open. It gave onto a long wooden corridor which led to Sigrid's abandoned room, and the young woman thought that she ought to go through her drawers again to try and sniff out a nice gown, in case Gilda did end up "getting married before frost descends", as she put it. "And you will too" she liked to add, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"What were those two doing in the cellar for so long?" Asked Tilda, teasing.

"Forcing me to be on my own with him, I guess."

"And nothing else?"

"Of course not. Ole is only your age, Tilda."

Tilda's hair whipped the air as she turned sharply to look at her sister, her eyes narrowed menacingly. Sigrid smirked. It always worked.

"And your point is?"

"That these two were forcing me to be on my own with him, because Gilda is convinced that the King fancies me."

"What were they trying to achieve?"

"Who knows? I guess they just wanted to embarass me a bit. I have them working Saturdays now too."

"No, I mean, what were they trying to achieve by only being a couple of feet away? If they wanted anything to happen they should have left the building entirely."

"Oh no, not you!" Sigrid pretended to be offended so as to allow her little sister to rebuild her wounded pride.

"I am only jesting."

They fell back into contented silence.

"Although... I think Gilda has a point, in truth."

"Has she?"

"I think Fili likes you"

Tilda's age, and the age she was when she had first met the company of Thorin, excused her from official titles. It would not do so for much longer, though.

"Does he?"

"I think so. I think he has always liked you, ever since they came out of our toilet back in the old house."

"Romantic"

"He has, though. I remember he was always looking at you. He threw himself at an orc, for you."

"For all of us, Tilda, and for his brother and friends, not for me."

"You're the one he pushed under the table though, and sheltered with his own body. And I was only young!"

"I was sheltering you, so, technically, he was sheltering both of us."

Neither of them really wanted to relive that night though, and they fell into silence, again.

"He does like you, I know it for sure. There is somehing Da and I know that we never told you."

Something in Tilda's tone sounded very mature, suddenly, and Sigrid knew that whatever was coming was big.

"Go on?"

"You know... You know, after the Battle, when Fili became king? And Da killed the dragon, and became king of Dale?"

"Yes?"

"Well... You know, we got our share of the treasure too, and we suddenly became so important, and everyone wanted to know us, and everyone wanted to be our friends, and... And lords started sending letters to Da to ask about your hand..."

"How could I forget? I am glad this is behind us."

"Yes, well... We did not tell you, but Da got a letter from the Mountain as well. From Fili. About your hand."

Sigrid blinked. She blanched.

"Pardon?"

"We never told you. Da refused all these lords straight away because he knew that they were after your money, but Fili, well... He has more money than us, does he not?"

Upon being met with only silence from her older sister, Tilda began to worry a bit.

"Sigrid, are you mad at me?"

"No, no... I am simply... Stunned, that is all. What happened then?"

"Well, Da got the letter..."

"Firstly, how have you come to know about this before me? Have you two been discussing my hand behind my back? Does Bain know?"

"Oh, I knew you would be angry! No, I do not think Bain knows anything more than you do, I only know about Fili's letter because... Well, because I used to read the letters from the lords in secret, I thought it was so exciting that all these men who had never even seen you suddenly wrote dozens of letters about how passionately they loved you... It was very entertaining - I was only young then - they even mispelt your name! In any case, Da did not know about this. Eventually I found Fili's letter, and I read it, and I just had to ask Da about it. Fili was not a stranger, we knew him, I had to ask why Da never mentioned it and why he just refused his letter too."

"And what did Da say?"

"Well, at first he was a bit mad at me, but you know him he simply cannot stay angry for long. We discussed it, because I thought that there was any offer to be accepted or at least run by you it would be Fili's. He knew you, we knew him, we knew for sure that he was not interested in money... I told Da what Fili did that night when the Orcs came, but still Da said no."

"Did he say why?"

"Yes... Of sorts. He said that firstly, the letter did not ask for your hand immediately but for the permission to court you. It made no mention of your dowry at all. So I said "isn't this a good thing?", and Da said that given the political situation at the time, a romance between a Dwarf and a daughter of Man would not be the most welcome... I wonder, what did he mean by that?"

"He meant that the people of Dale then thought that the Dwarves were the ones responsible for destroying half of the town. They believed that because the Master had told them that. People still respected the Master you see, and although Da was King he had to work alongside the Master and not cross him, otherwise the people would turn against him. Now everyone knows what the Master was really like - when he fled with a part of the treasure and betrayed our trust -, and they understand that the Dwarves are not our enemies, but back then it was even risky for Dwarves to just walk the streets of Lake-Town. Not like now, obviously."

"I see... Well, Da said all these things about the political situation, then he said that Fili did sound fairly genuine, and that if he did want to court you he would wait until things settled down and come to speak to you himself. He did not seem to think that any union would come of it, though."

"Why not?" Sigrid suddenly felt on the brink of tears, without really being able to place the reason why. She was not one to tear up.

"He said that you never spoke of Fili. And that Fili was a dwarf, but I do not understand why this matters..."

"But it does, Tilda. Dwarves live at least two hundred years, and he is only about seventy..."

"But you are only nineteen, you have a lot of time before you"

"Yes, a lot of time, like what? I will be twenty on Thursday, and then how long will I have left? Sixty years? Seventy, if I am lucky? Fili would not even have started getting grey that I would be all wrinkled and incontinent. And say we overcame that issue, what then? I leave the Grinning Rat, come to live under a mountain surrounded by Dwarves? Do not misunderstand me, Dwarves are lovely company and most respectful folks, but no one has asked them to call me their queen yet."

She tried to catch her breath. Why this subject was getting to her so much, she dared not consider.

"Besides, I am at least two heads taller than him. Would people not laugh? Would he not grow tired of people laughing at him and his gigantic, wrinkled wife?"

She spat that last word like it was poison in her mouth, and saw Tilda's face grow slightly worried.

"Sigrid, Fili is a very honourable person. I do not think he would mind at all."

"Yes, well, I would. If I was to care about him, I would not bear to have people laugh at him, and his people turn against him, and to have him growing stronger and stronger as I grow weaker and weaker and become a burden for him and our children... Our children! Why would I want to bring little outcasts into this world? Who would have them, once I was dead? The Dwarves, the Men? No. I would mind, very much so."

She looked up, and saw that Tilda had grown worried and upset. Sigrid felt terrible. Her sister was so, so young, she wanted to believe in love and happiness ever after, who was she to paint such a dark picture for her? She had no right.

"Forgive me, Tilda, I know not what has come over me"

"It is fine" said Tilda, but her face was sheltered by the curtain of her hair and she heard a quiet sniff from behind it.

Sigrid's heart sank deeper into her chest.

"I must go and prepare the inn for tonight. I will see you tomorrow, ok?"

A quick nod.

Sigrid left.

The following Thursday, Fili felt that he had finally recovered from the embarrassment of the Saturday. Besides, it was the longest he had stayed away from the inn - from Sigrid - and he felt the pull like the throbbing of a open wound.

In the evening, the company of the late Thorin Oakenshield left Erebor and descended upon Lake-Town. No one had asked Fili about what had happened after they had all left him on his own with the lady Sigrid, probably assuming that it must have been rather bad if the King had stayed away from the Grinning Rat for so long.

In any case, as the sun was setting in the horizon the company entered the inn and saw that their usual table was already set, and that the lady Sigrid and her two helpers were already pouring pints of ale.

"Good evening, my lords, your Highness" scanded the blond girl, motioning at them to take a seat. "We have not seen you in a while"

"No, indeed, my lady, we have been rather busy with various troublesome activities."

"Well, we have very much missed your company. Can you imagine, we have set your table every night, refusing guests, saying 'this table is taken by the company of Thorin Oakenshield and his Highness King under the Mountain', and each night we have been cruelly deceived!"

This was it, Sigrid thought. People liked this kind of semi-flirtatious banter that Gilda so easily slipped into, and neither she nor Ole could ever pull off without sounding downright frightening.

"Ah, my lady! My heart bleeds to think we have caused pain in any way! Do not fret, we intend to make up for our absence this night, of we may."

"You may" laughed Gilda, while Sigrid and Ole went to the cellar to retrieve enough drink for the Dwarves. They normally drank enormous amounts, it was hard to imagine what they would drink if they were "making up" for their absence!

Sigrid and Ole laughed together while carrying heavy barrels and plenty of bottles up the stairs, and when they got to the main room, and started pouring more ale, the dwarf Bofur's voice boomed over the room and to the bar.

"My lady Sigrid! You have not told us, we were not aware that today was your name day!"

Oh no. How could they possibly have discovered that? One look at Gilda confirmed her doubts. She was not even pretending to be surprised.

"It is indeed today, my lord."

"My lord?" Repeated Bofur, dumdfounded.

"And how old does this make you, my dear Sigrid?" Asked Balin. "If it is not too impolite of me to ask." He added, and Gloin turned around to say : "human lasses are often quite funny about saying how old they are - that's a habit my won wife has picked up from her time with the Men."

"Why not join us, my lady? You cannot possibly be serving anyone on such a day. Tonight, you shall be served!" Declared the charming Bofur, pulling out a chair for her - right opposite where Fili was sitting - and standing to walk over to the bar.

"Oh, that really will not be necessary my lo... Bofur."

"Oh yes it really will" interrupted Gilda, and she pulled Sigrid, forcing her down onto the chair. "Our dear Sigrid has been working herself out, and we cannot allow this today." Bofur was already coming back with a pint for her, and another for Gilda, and Gilda grabbed her pint then lifted it up in the air, her other hand securely holding Sigrid's chair in place. "Tonight, the server shall be served!"

The whole table lifted their pints and repeated "The server shall be served!". Everyone drank. Sigrid gave in. Why not, after all?

"So, my lady, you have not told us. How old will you be, after tonight?"

Sigrid set her glass down rather heavily.

"I will be twenty"

This unleashed a series of Oohs and Aahs from the table, as the dwarves commented on the number.

"And I understand that this represents quite a threshold, in the world of Men?" Asked Balin, ever so civilised. Only the red that was spreading across his nose and cheeks betrayed his true condition.

"It is, I suppose. Many people see twenty as the true beginning of adulthood, although our laws chose the age of eighteen."

"Eighteen, twenty... As a dwarf, you would barely be learning to say 'mama'!" Laughed someone.

"'Tis true, I suppose, we do lead much shorter lives" conceded Sigrid. She hoped Fili was listening to that.

"Aye, better not waste any of it then" said Balin, who tried to wink at her but somehow failed and ended up blinking both eyes in her general direction.

The very sight of the old, respectable dwarf winking at her, with his red cheeks and tangled beard, threw the young woman into a fit of giggles very unlike her. The dwarves turned at that, as did all the people in the inn that night, and all rejoiced in hearing a sound so light and joyful from someone so young and kind. She felt very embarrassed but could not stop, and her gaze crossed Fili's for the first time that day. He was looking back at her, a lovely expression in his eyes.

Surrounded by the laughter and happy chatter, alone in a crowd, they held each other's gaze. She was vaguely aware that this was the very first time she had looked, really looked at him.

He was handsome.

Not the way Men were, maybe not even the way Dwarves were, but in his own way he truly was. His golden hair framed his face and fell onto his shoulders, in intricate braids, beads tangled here and there. His eyes were blue, luminous blue, clear blue, and when they looked directly into yours it was hard not to blink their intensity away. His body was much larger than hers, or a man's, yet he was clearly shorter than her, there was no denying that. Did it really matter? He was about seventy years old, had lived at least fifty years more than her, yet his face looked as youthful as that of a man in his twenties. Were they not about the same age, truly? She knew he was an excellent fighter. She knew he was kind, and loyal, and protective, and trustworthy. She knew his voice well - it was warm, deep, and soothing. How could he think that I did not remember his name?

She could see it, now, now that she looked at him with open eyes. Gilda and Tilda were right. The poor dwarf looked completely smitten with her. What was she going to do?

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she shifted her attention towards her empty pint. What was she going to do?

In the very early hours of the morning, once the other dwarves had left, kissing the lady Sigrid's hand clumsily and wishing her all sorts of merry happenings, and once Sigrid had sent Gilda and Ole home, only Fili remained. She had told her helpers that they would keep the cleaning up for the next day, but he knew she was going to stay up and do it all by herself.

She seemed quite agitated, moving things about and mopping aggressively. He did not know what to do with himself, so he started gathering some empty glasses and taking them over to the bar. It was then that a genius idea struck him.

"My lady, it is your name day. Why not go to bed while I clean and tidy up for you? Let this be my gift to you."

If she said yes, he would be deprived of her company, but at least he would be doing something for her and hopefully gaining a bit of her favour in the process.

"That is very kind of you, but to tell you the truth I quite enjoy having work to do"

Well that settled it.

"May I stay with you, and help?"

She shrugged, and replied playfully : "Who am I to refuse a king?"

Sigrid caught herself then, she could not let the ale break her resolve. She had to channel her newly found bravery into pushing him away, not inviting him further in.

"Although... I have refused kings before. Several, in fact."

That sounded proud and childish, surely he would soon be disgusted with her if she carried on like this.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, then said:

"So I have heard. Were none of these kings to your liking?"

She was suddenly struck with the idea that maybe he thought she knew about his proposal, and was the one who had discarded it without a second thought.

"I... Simply do not wish for the company of a king." She could almost feel his hurt physically, like a gust of wind across the room. "Of Men." She added.

Now that was perfect, she had begun by being extremely rude and hurtful, and had ended up sounding like she was throwing herself at his feet. She tried to drown her silly words by rambling:

"You see, when my father became King of Dale our lives changed so drastically. I became a lady, daughter to a king, sister to a lady and to a lord. I am no lady, Fili. I am nothing more than Sigrid of Lake-Town, and I cannot be a lady, I cannot be around kings and lords. 'Tis different for Tilda, for she is still young and each year that passes she seems to forget where we come from. It is for the better, truly, she has a chance to reconstruct herself. My brother does not speak so it is hard to know what he thinks of this all. I believe he is doing well. They are so young. Four years ago to them is like a thousand years. But I remember, I was older, I had to be."

Maybe if she confided in him, like she had never confided in anyone, if she told him everything thenne would see, he would understand how unsuitable they were for each other, race and longevity put aside. She turned, refusing to face him as she spoke.

"We were poor, so poor. We were so poor that my mother died of it. We had nothing. My father was a smuggler. We ate fish everyday, there was nothing else. Fish and weeds. I caught, scaled, gutted fish with my own hands. My fingers still carry the scars. All three of us slept in a same bed, and all night I laid awake thinking about what we were going to eat, what we were going to do, would we survive winter... I grew tough, resourceful, I learnt the tricks of scavenging and survival. I learnt them so well that now they are all I know. The name of this place, The Grinning Rat, that is because of me. My friends used to say that when I emmerged from the durty waters kf the town, holding a slimy fish, with my hair all wet and dirty and my skinny arms, but smiling wide, I looked a rat, a happy rat! I am no lady. I do not wish to be a lady. I do not wish to be known, I wish to be a nobody. I like to work, I like to earn my food. I could not be a lady, it is too late for me."

I am a coward, she added in thought. When his voice came up from only a few inches away from her she jumped. He said:

"My lady, I truly believe that it takes great strenght to admit when something does not suit us, even if it seems easy to others. It takes more strenght than I can muster, perhaps... But I also believe that it demands just as much to accept that something which seems almost impossible at first, may just be the right thing for us."

As he said this, he gently tugged at her arm, making her turn around to face him. He swallowed heavily then extended a trembling hand towards hers. He held it, ever so gently. Their hands were so similar. Of course, his was much bigger, but both wore on their hands the scars of their lives. The skin was rugged by weapons and hard work, but warm and soft underneath.

"My lady, you are so brave! I wish I had half your strenght."

He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed it softly, reverently. His lips and his breath were warm against her skin, the feel of his beard on her hand awoke in her feelings and turmoils she had never felt before.

"Sigrid"

The way he said her name, like a prayer, he could just as well have said "mercy".

"You are so beautiful"

He looked at her, at her face, her eyes, her lips - she licked them unconsciously. His eyes travelled back up to hers - he was not that short, was he? - as if asking for permission, and she nodded, her breath beating her chest like a madman. He leaned in, she bent down almost imperceptibly. His other hand came up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. His ring, the one that was passed from heir to heir in the line of Durin feeling slightly cooler against her hot skin. The King's ring.

She pulled away suddenly, bumping into a table in her haste to get as far away from him as possible.

"I must go. You must go, I shall see you another day."

"Sigrid..." He made to move towards her, but she backed further away.

"Goodnight, your Highness."

That worked. He stopped, looking at her questioningly. She looked away.

"Goodnight, my... Sigrid."

He turned, and left, and a few seconds later Sigrid burst into tears.

"Just read what we prepared for you, and you will be fine" said Dís for what seemed like the hundreth time. Her son, the only kin she had left, seemed far too nervous for her taste. Dwarves did not respect soft nerves.

"Yes, mother"

Fili was holding the bit of paper into his hand, although his mind was miles away from the Eastern/Western wing restoration issue. She loved him. He had seen it in her eyes, read it in her body language. She loved him, but something was holding her back, and he thought he knew just what. He was King. This was good news, though, because if she had refused him because she thought him ugly, or annoying, it would have been a lot worse. He could not fix his looks. His status, however, that was a whole new story. This was ideal, really. Her refusal had given him the courage he needed to carry on with his project. His nerves shook with excitement.

Silence settled over the throne room. All lords and ladies were gathered, looking up at him, waiting for him to speak out his decision.

"Fellow Dwarves of Erebor" he started.

See those fat lords snickering in the corner. He could not wait to watch their reaction when he would tell them all what he truly had in mind.

"...after discussing the matter with my most valued councelors..."

This was right. He knew it now, more than ever. He was no King.

"...the Western wing shall be given priority, as I value your homes over my treasures."

He had finished now, they were all gathering their coats and skirts. But he was not done.

"My lords, my ladies, before you leave I have another announcement to make."

He glanced at his mother and Balin, both comically wearing the same puzzled expression on their bearded faces. He knew that what he had to say would shaken the whole of the Dwarven world and culture. In fact, it was probably unheard within any race of Middle Earth. But, as strange as it might have seemed... For the first time since he had been crowned, Fili felt happy he was the King.

"SIGRID! Oh my, Sigrid, you look terrible, have you slept at all?"

Tilda had stormed into her sister's room the next day, to find her sister still in bed although the Grinning Rat was to open just a couple of hours later.

"Hmmm?"

Sigrid refused to look, the sheer embarrassement of the night before still burning bright in her mind. I even licked my lips.

"I have the most incredible news. Da just received information about this at lunch time, but it happened this morning. Happy name day, by the way, granny."

"Thank you. What news?"

"Are you listening? Look at me! Are you listening?"

Sigrid gave in and looked at her sister. To be fair, Tilda did look like she was holding the biggest piece of information that ever was.

"Fili has abdicated this morning."

What?

"What?"

"Yes! He has abdicated, he is no longer King under the Mountain. Apparently, he has passed all his powers to his mother, do you realise what this means? He chose a female to replace him, the Dwarves will now have a queen"

From the almost delirious glint in her eyes, there was no doubting that Tilda thought this was simply the best thing to happen to the whole of Middle Earth. And it was, really. Dwarves and Men alike were rather touchy about having a female become a leader, even if she was of royal descent. That a king had publicly given up his powers and admitted that a female could lead better than he could, well, that was simply unheard of.

"Can you imagine? That means anything is possible, I could succeed to Da instead of Bain!"

"But what will Fili do, now? Is Dís really the Queen?"

"Yes, she definitely is, Da received official confirmation from the Queen herself. We have a queen!"

"The Dwarves have a queen, Tilda."

"I shall become a dwarf if that means I can be queen. Oh but I do not know where Fili is now, apparently Dís' letter said he aspired to a simpler life, maybe he will come over to Lake-Town... OH HE DEFINITELY WILL, Sigrid he must be in his way here! He probably wants to be with you, and work in your inn!"

"Do not be silly," all this shouting and excitement was giving Sigrid a terrible headache.

"I am not silly, quick, get up, you have to bathe you look disgusting! He could be here any minute."

Sigrid tried to protest but Tilda would not be refused. She offered to scrub her sister herself and Sigrid had to give in, and get into her bath.

"No, no, leave it down, it will look like you are just out of your bath and were not expecting him. It will look more intimate" said Tilda, slapping away her sister's hand as it went up to her wet hair.

"My, my, Tilda, you are quite the mastermind" jested Sigrid, but she left her hair down.

"Very well, now you look better. I will leave now, and tell Ole and Gilda not to bother showing up until later. They would put him off his proposal!"

"Why, Tilda why are so certain that he will come?"

"He wants you. He is no longer a king, so nothing stand inbetween you two now. This is so exciting!"

"Nothing but race, height, longevity, social pressure..."

Tilda was about to argue, when the bell at the front door rang, warning them of a customer.

"It's him!" Hissed Tilda.

Heavy footsteps were heard from downstairs.

"Sigrid?"

Damn. It was him. 'Go, go, go' was mouthing Tilda to her sister, shooing her out if the room. From over her shoulder, Sigrid saw her little sister climbing out of the window. Some things never changed.

Feeling silly now for letting her hair down, Sigrid walked down the steps. She did not know what to think. He had given up the throne, he was no longer a king. Should she feel guilty? Did he do that thinking that it was the only reason why she had pulled away?

Too soon, she reached the bottom step, and there he was, standing in the middle of the room. The sunlight pierced through the windows and shone in his golden hair. Grains of dust whirled around the room, caught in the sunlight, like bits of gold.

She took a few steps forward.

"Good afternoon, your... Fili."

"Good afternoon"

The loose, wet hair must have made quite an effect, because he was looking at her more intently than he had ever done before, even when they were about to kiss. She nervously pushed her hair behind her ears.

He seemed to recover from his shock, and cleared his throat.

"I do not know if you have heard from your father already, but I am no longer king."

She nodded. "I have heard"

The silence that stretched between them was so heavy that she felt the need to break it.

"I hope that this decision has made you happy?"

"It has. It does make me happy. Does it you?"

The question caught her completely off-guard and she found nothing better to say than "p-pardon?"

"My lady, Sigrid, what I was trying to say last night was that I wished I had the strenght to, like you, refuse a title that had been thrusted upon me and which I knew would not suit me."

He was growing bold again, now, taking steps towards her. She felt her own resolve faltering as his will grew stronger.

"Our conversation has given me the courage I was lacking. Please, do not think that you are responsible in any way for my abdication - it is something I have always wished to do. My mother will make a much better king than I ever could have done. I have never wished to be king."

The way he was looking at her then, it was like he was trying to tell her something with his eyes. What could it be, that they were similar, both refusing a title in favour of simplicity?

You are still a Dwarf, I am still human. I will die before our children learn to walk.

"I understand from your helper, erm, what is her name?"

"Gilda?"

"Gilda, that is it. I have come to know that she was intending to marry a man from a neighbourging town, and that she would be leaving the Grinning Rat before winter. She said there would be a vacancy. She told me so herself, last night, when you went down to the cellar."

"Well, she has certainly not told me yet."

Sigrid was sad to hear that her dear friend was leaving, and that she had told patrons before even telling her. She could not help feeling amused though that her friend would indeed be married before frost descended. Where does that leave me?

"I was hoping to offer my services to you, if you will need an extra pair of hands, that is."

"You...wish to work here? For me?"

"If you will have me."

The double meaning behind that last sentence hung heavily in the air, but they were both tired of prentending that it was not there.

"I am no lady."

"I am no king."

"I am much taller than you. Do you not mind?"

"Do you?"

"I will be old and grey long before you"

"There is no time to waste, then"

He walked towards her then, and in her nervosity she bumped into a table and sent the little blue plate that was on top to the floor, where it burst into dozens of tiny pieces.

"Oh dear," she laughed, "Gilda has not left yet and I am already wrecking the place!"

She sunk to her knees, hiding away from the situation, pretending to be extremely keen to pick up all the broken pieces at this exact moment. She saw his feet approaching her, and he knelt down as well, though he was not helping with the plate.

He placed his hands on hers, gently, stilling them.

"Sigrid"

She bit her lips, refusing to look at him.

"Sigrid, I love you."

She froze.

"I know you, and I love you. I do not care for height and titles, I wish to marry you. I will look after you, and be by your side until time catches us. If you will have me."

She remained motionless, unable to quite comprehend what was happening, and utterly unable to fight against it any longer.

"Sigrid, my love, please look at me..."

"Kiss me. Fili, hold me. Kiss me."

And he did.

Her arms found his neck, and his hand found her wet hair and grabbed it. They were both kneeling on the floor on pieces of a broken plate, but they could not care less. He held her close to his body, and he could feel all of hers. Their mouths melted against each other, and when their tongues met she let out a soft noise at the back of her throat that sent ripples of pure bliss throughout his body. He pulled back just a second, just to whisper against her lips:

"Have you noticed, my Sigrid? I believe we are at the same height now"

She laughed and kissed him again.

They married soon after, before frost had even had the chance to descend.

After Gilda left, and Sigrid of Lake-Town married Fili the Dwarf, the Grinning Rat kept on welcoming folks from all lands. It attracted twice the amount of people in fact, as not only could you order from and be served by a lady, there was now a former king here to refill your glass and wipe your table.

The love that existed between the two of them was clear for anyone to see, and it made the atmosphere at the inn even more welcoming. It was a place where there existed no gaps between old and young, male and female, Men, Elves, Dwarves... All there was was a happily married couple and the simple joy of love and friendship. What a shame, though, that one could no longer book a room upstairs, for the bedrooms had been converted into children's rooms. Not that it mattered much, though, for the children quickly became part of the show!


End file.
